


Alistair Appreciation Week 2017

by ponticle



Series: Ponticle's Collected Shorts [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Gen, King Alistair, M/M, Warden Alistair, Young Alistair, alistair appreciation week, anders at court, seven days in a row
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-30 07:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12649125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: Each day for the next week I'll post a small snippet for Alistair Appreciation Week. You can also find these on mytumblr.





	1. Warden Alistair

* * *

When the crown did not land on his head, Alistair thought he had been granted his ultimate wish. Little did he know, he would rule anyway. Here, in Weisshaupt, he spends his days in meetings and negotiations. He enforces rules and doles out punishments. He  _ decides _ —ultimate and swift.

Today, a page arrives with a stack of missives. Some are from Orlais, some from Nevarra, and one is from the Inquisitor herself, but they all ask for the same thing:  _ help _ . Alistair pinches the bridge of his nose and blinks to keep the words from running together. He hunches over his desk and rubs the skin between his neck and shoulder. 

The First Warden is just a King without a crown.

* * *

 


	2. King Alistair

* * *

There’s a portrait on the way to the great hall that Alistair tries not to look at. It depicts Cailan standing at the head of his troops. The backdrop is some nondescript field—nowhere that actually exists—but whenever Alistair sees it, all he can think about is Ostagar. The painting itself is  _ fine _ . From what he remembers of Cailan, the features seem accurate, if a bit smoother around the eyes. The pose looks genuine. But still, he  _ dreads  _ that painting.

By reputation, Alistair has a rather clear picture of his brother—half-brother. Cailan was headstrong, rash, a  _ cad _ . History has a way of reducing prominent figures to a list of attributes and only those who survive get a vote as to which ones stick. So he wonders, when he accidentally sees that picture, what Cailan was actually like. Did he like to sing? Did he have a favorite book? Was he ever someone’s one-and-only? 

...and… if he had known about Alistair—if he  _ did  _ know—would he have loved him like a brother should? Would they have been best friends? Would they have someday learned to live in peace even if Cailan still sat on the throne?

Alistair can’t know… so he avoids that picture. He avoids that hallway. He avoids that entire wing. And the painting grows older all the time—like his brother never will.

* * *

 


	3. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for angst day of AAW

* * *

The world swims. Someone calls his name, but it blends into the background noise of the Hanged Man. His skin is dry and his gums itch. He thinks he might be dying—some days it’s more pronounced than others. Today, he’s almost sure.

“Hey, buddy…” says a voice. It’s a man with crazy dark hair and a stripe of something red across his nose.  _ Is that blood? _ “Hey…” he repeats.

Alistair squints. 

“Hey… my friend here thinks she knows you…” says the man. He gestures to a woman in a bandana over his shoulder. Alistair almost recognizes her, but he often has that experience—it’s usually a function of the hope he keeps trying to quash… the hope that someone will find him… that someone will  _ save  _ him from himself. 

“Whorrryou?” he mumbles. He hears his voice and feels his mouth move, but it doesn’t seem like he’s the one talking—he used to be someone else.

“I’m Hawke… this is Isabela,” says the man. “Can we  _ help  _ you?”

Alistair squints. “Arryou from the Chantry?” he asks. “Did my uncle sendya?”

Hawke and Isabela look at each other in confusion.

“Whatever. I dunneeeed help,” he slurs. 

“Listen… buddy…” repeats Hawke. “You really  _ look  _ like you do.”

In the minutes that follow, the twisting, roiling sensation in his guts intensifies. It  _ hurts _ and he wonders if he’s going to vomit, but he’s aware of something else too: two sets of arms under his shoulders, a warm bed, soft music. It reminds him of something he’s never had before—of something he’s only dared dream. 

“There, there, little prince,” says Isabela. There’s a laugh in her voice. In the half-sleep Alistair confuses her with an initiate he used to know. 

“Come on, Bela, let him sleep…” says Hawke, somewhere in the distance. “We’ll check on him in the morning.”

_ Maybe help isn’t so bad after all. _

* * *

 


	4. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Alistair sees Cailan and Maric from afar.

* * *

The  _ other  _ boy looks just like him. It’s like looking into his future, but with better hair… At ten, Alistair’s is rather wiry and unpredictable… and red—the  _ worst  _ color for a boy to have, in his estimation. The  _ other  _ boy’s is blonde and his eyes are blue—they sparkle as he smiles.  _ Cailan Theirin _ … the brother Alistair can never know.  

Alistair stands at the periphery as Cailan passes. He’s riding a white horse through the square just ahead of his father—the  _ king…  _ it’s in that moment that Alistair experiences jealousy for the first real time in his life. That man—with the longish blonde hair and the big, gentle eyes—is  _ his  _ father too, except he’s already too busy being a father to that superior boy… to that blonde, horse-riding, shining paragon of princely qualities. He doesn’t have time for the dirty little bastard with the ruddy complexion and propensity for making messes. Why should he? Alistair is a mistake. No one even  _ pretends _ he isn’t. 

Alistair grits his teeth, trying not to cry. A woman on his left calls out, ‘Long live his majesty!’ and Maric turns. For a split second, Alistair almost lets himself hope:  _ see me _ .  _ Notice me. _ But the smile on Maric’s lips is not for him. It glides gently across his regal features and slides away again just as quickly; he rides ahead and pats Cailan on the shoulder from his slightly taller steed. It’s in that moment that Alistair knows: he has no family.

* * *

 


	5. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Friend's Day of AAW

* * *

“Then the Landsmeet erupted into a cacophony of cheers…” says Alistair. “It was really kind of neat; it’s the first time they’ve  _ liked _ something I said.”

Alistair brushes his hand through his hair and sighs. 

“And then, of course, Leliana made sure no one got  _ too  _ crazy… she’s always looking out for me…  _ and  _ for you…”

Alistair's breath catches in his lungs. He shivers, although it isn’t cold.

“Of course… she wouldn’t have to look out for you if…” he pauses, feeling ridiculous. “If you were here…”

He leans heavily on the edge of the statue. It’s cold and smooth under his hand, but it’s the only piece of Amell he can hold onto now. It’s the last remnant.

“She still talks about you all the time, you know…” he says quietly, looking up into the statue’s face. “She still  _ loves  _ you…” He gasps, “You were her one and only...and… you were mine too, in a lot of ways: the _ only one _ to see me for what I was--for what I could be.” He swallows audibly; his throat clicks, suddenly a desert. “And that’s why it hurts, friend… that you’re not here… because you were the best of us… and we’ll never know anyone like you.”

He steps back, steeling himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

 


	6. Crossover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...MEA setting...

* * *

“Step right up! See the holostatue of Commander Shepard!” says the computer.

 _I’m Commander Shepard and this is my favorite shop on the Citadel_.

Alistair laughs to himself. Out here in Andromeda these projections of Earth’s famous people don’t really seem applicable, but everyone likes a hero. Of course, Shepard has been dead for 600 years. It’s strange; the moment Alistair woke up from cryosleep, he realized his life would never be the same again. He _felt_ the same: same face, same teeth, same weirdly uncontrollable hair… but he was suddenly one of the only humans in a whole new galaxy.

In the year that has passed since then, he’s found a place. He works as an assistant engineer on a small cargo ship, delivering medical supplies to the outer rim worlds. When he isn’t working, he spends his time on the Nexus or studying on Havarl. He has a dream of someday being a history professor… back on earth he studied medieval civilizations. He even LLARPed once. But right now, engineers are more vital than teachers… and he’s good at math... so with that in mind, he attends a seminar on the Nexus.

As the classroom fills, Alistair tries to look approachable. He wants to get a _nice_ desk mate, not some insane person. As it turns out, no one wants to sit next to him. He winds up with a whole desk to himself. He spreads his things out over the uneven surface and waits. Suddenly, the lights flick out and a voice echoes from the back of the hall. He turns.

“Welcome, everyone,” says someone. His voice is bright and kind. Before Alistair even gets a good look at him, he likes him. “Thank you for attending this seminar. I appreciate the great turnout. If everyone could silence their coms, that would be great. I’m Professor Brodie—you can call me Gil.” He alights behind the podium just as he stops talking and smiles.

Alistair realizes his mouth is hanging open. He blinks. _Gil_ —it’s the simplest name he’s ever heard but he _loves_ it. Gil—it might be his new favorite word. Gil, Gil, Gil.

“Just so I can get a sense of the room, who here is already working in an engineering capacity?” asks Gil.

Alistair raises his hand; as it turns out, he’s one of the only ones.

Gil points to him, “You. What’s your name?”

Alistair opens his mouth to introduce himself; his voice almost refuses to work. “Al—Alistair,” he manages. His voice cracks on the second try. _Perfect_.

“Well, welcome, Alistair,” says Gil. He laughs gently as approaches the edge of Alistair’s desk and extends his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

They shake. Alistair stares up into Gil’s face with equal parts excitement and trepidation. He knows Gil is just being friendly, but it feels like something _else_ too.

“Thank you, _everyone_ …” Gil amends, looking around the classroom.

Alistair blushes, and tries to pull his hand away, but Gil resists. It’s just a second—almost an imperceptible change—but it’s there. And that’s when Alistair knows: _everything_ is about to change.

* * *

 

 


	7. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...in a scenario where Anders is living at court with Alistair under an assumed identity... for rare pair day of AAW...

* * *

“So then she says, ‘did you ever meet someone called Anders?’” Alistair pulls the covers back and throws his shirt on the floor in front of the fire.

Anders nods. He’s smiling devilishly. “What did  _ you _ say?”

“I said… ‘was he the one with the peg leg?’” Alistair laughs so hard he snorts.

“You didn’t…”

Alistair nods, sliding between the covers. Anders mirrors him. When they’re face to face, their hands find each other beneath the sheets; it’s practiced and easy.

“Hey, Andy…? How much longer are we going to keep playing this game? How much longer do we have to be a secret?” asks Alistair suddenly. He knows it borders on too bold; he knows it might have an adverse effect, but he asks anyway. 

Anders rolls his eyes and flops onto his back. 

“Wait… Andy…” Alistair chases him, resting his weight on Anders’ chest. He cranes his neck to force eye contact. “I mean… I’ll take any part of you I can have… but… I want… I want  _ all  _ of you.”

Anders sighs. “Al, I’m right here…”

“...yeah… but...” continues Alistair. “Aren’t you  _ proud  _ of me?” 

Anders blinks. “What?”

“I mean… I’m trying not to feel  _ bad _ … but… don’t you want people to know we’re together? At least a  _ little _ ?” Alistair asks. “I’m pretty handsome… usually people are pleased to be seen with me…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Al; it’s not that,” says Anders dismissively. 

It feels like it  _ might  _ be, though. In Alistair’s opinion, the danger has passed. No one knows who Anders actually is; he’s been living here at court for a year without incident. He’s just  _ Erik _ , ‘the arcane adviser’… and Alistair isn’t tied to anyone.

“What are you so afraid of?” asks Alistair finally.

Anders huffs. “I’m not afraid.”

“Then what  _ are  _ you?”

“I’m… I’m protecting you,” answers Anders finally. “I’m making sure that if I get found out—”

“You’re not going to—” Alistair interrupts.

Anders puts two fingers on Alistair’s lips. “...If I get found out, I don’t want it to blow back on you. Besides, you  _ have _ me—I’m here in your bed, aren’t I?”

Alistair nods begrudgingly. 

“And we talk about everything all the time,” adds Anders.

Alistair shrugs.

“And I  _ love _ you...so how much  _ more  _ of me is there?” 

Alistair feels the corners of his mouth turn up of their own volition.

“ _ That’s _ the smile I love,” says Anders. “Al… all that matters is what’s right here.”

And although it feels unlikely, Alistair believes him.

* * *

 


End file.
